


I'd get on my knees

by chinarai



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Royai - Freeform, royaismut18, royaismutweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-27 00:10:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13868925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinarai/pseuds/chinarai
Summary: Seven different ways in which they touch each other. vii: She feels full, whole in more ways than one as the warmth inside her grows enough to rival the heat of his flames. [royaismutweek 2018]





	1. i: do you even have to ask?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again. Here we are for another shipping event, one that isn't my area of expertise at all, but I tried. I can only hope this won't be a general disappointment for all lmao
> 
> Enjoy!

“I had hoped that, by now, you would know that you’re not exactly the best cook in this part of town... Sir.”

Or in all of Central and East combined. Hell, maybe even in all of Amestris. Roy and cooking do not mix, and for someone that sprouts flames from his fingertips with an effortless snap, he has no control over them whatsoever on the stove or the oven. Everything either burns or is served undercooked, hence why the only things that fill his cabinets and fridge are bread and an assortment of cheese and ham for quick sandwiches.

Roy, on his part, chooses to ignore her comment and huffs indignantly off on the side of his kitchen, arms crossed and hip leaned onto the counter as Second Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye tries to salvage the chocolate ganache he had been trying to prepare before he called her for help. Whatever had possessed him to cook his best friend’s favorite dessert as a birthday gift? Maybe the fact that Hughes and his fiancé have been supportive ever since they returned from Ishval. A homemade gift can convey his gratitude better than any store bought cake, so he decided to recreate it from memory.

The lady at the store explained to him how to prepare a good ganache. I did not seem so hard, yet he managed to get the heavy cream stuck to the bottom of the pan. Whom else could he call if not Hawkeye? If it were not for her, no one in her childhood home would have anything to eat in any of the meals. She is a good cook, though she does not have as much free time as before to spend in the kitchen stirring a pot full of stew or bake her marvelous duck pie.

She looks so different from the girl she was in her father’s burial, and from the young woman he met in the frontlines. The shadows under her eyes are long gone, but the hard lines of her face hardly soften to give him a glimpse of that bright smile she used to give him back in the day. His eyes trace the high collar of her shirt and dip to her back where he imagines the charred skin of her shoulder blades. Riza turns her body to pour the concoction inside a bowl, effectively blocking it out of his sight, but he has already memorized both the tattoo and injuries he left on her.

“What else?”

He moves away from the counter to retrieve a carton of ice cream from the freezer, setting it on the marble between them. Riza scraps the last of the ganache from the pan and passes it to him so he can put it in the sink and fill it with water.

Roy dips his finger into the pan and carefully gathers some of the ganache on the tip, wrinkling his nose as it heats his skin enough to be unpleasant, but not burn. “Do you still like chocolate?” He licks his own finger, trying not to let his gaze focus on her back again.

“Yes.” She pops the carton open and sticks a spoon in the vanilla ice cream. When she turns around, he has a finger in her face, a generous dollop of ganache resting atop it. Her eyes cross as they focus on the item so close to her nose.

“Have some.” He waggles his finger, taunting. When she remains still, he presses on. “Come on, Hawkeye. Just a little bit.”

“I’m not here to eat.” Riza furrows her brows at him.

“What? You thought we wouldn’t scrape the bowls clean?” Roy stretches his arms further until the ganache touches her closed lips. “Eat.”

She does. Her lips wrap around his finger, tongue swiping up to the digit, their gazes locked together. Hers is beginning to show traces of annoyance, his is playful and growing befuddled with every second that passes. By the time her actions register in both of their minds, Riza releases the finger with an unholy pop, horror and embarrassment plastered on her face, and Roy is gaping at her openly, wide eyed and all.

Riza digs the heels of her palms into her eyes until she sees spots behind her lids. “Sir, I’m so sorry.” Her voice is laced with frustration and agitation starts coursing through her body. It only adds to the mortification swelling inside her and makes her even more anxious, which in turn triggers a fight or flight response. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

Roy stops her by taking hold of her chin. Her arms fall to her sides and she stares up at him with a mix of emotions he does not bother to dissect. Instead, he spreads ganache all over her parted lips, both hearing and feeling as her breath hitches, and closes the gap between them to kiss it clean. There is a brief, initial moment when she remains tense under his touch, and just like the chocolate she added to the heavy cream earlier, she melts under him without putting up a fight or resisting. His tongue caresses the seam of her lips and they part to grant him entrance, her own tongue eagerly finding his.

He hoists her up on the counter, inching up her long skirt so he can settle comfortably between her thighs. Riza does not protest and locks her ankles together behind him to pull him closer, moaning into his mouth. The chocolate makes his head spin faster and he wants to kiss her until he cannot taste the cacao anymore. That being said, Roy pulls away for long enough to smear his own mouth with the concoction before diving in for more.

She is gripping his biceps tightly, his shoulder, his neck, his sides. Wherever she touches leaves a tingling sensation and he squeezes his fingers around whatever part of her body he has his hands on. He feels her ribs through the cotton of her shirt and decides he does not want it standing between them. Riza helps him remove it and throws her head back, banging it on the cabinet behind her, but she only hisses in pain and pleasure as he kisses his ways down to the swell of her breasts. Her skin is soft. It is easy to assume she would be otherwise when what he sees daily is a firm set of shoulders and the blue military uniform.

Roy unhooks her bra expertly, a simple model of a bland beige color, but still the best thing he has seen all week. He withdraws to study her, skin flushed from head to shoulders, chest heaving for air. His chocolate-dipped fingers travel over the column of her neck and collarbones and his tongue hungrily laps up at the mess he has made. Her sighs fan his black unruly locks and moments later her fingers comb through it.

He reaches for the bowl of ganache and stops, lifting his head from its place over her bosom. Riza blinks her eyes open in a haze, shooting him a confused look as he stretches his arm as far as it can go without having to step away from where he stands. Her warm, clouded amber eyes shoot open when something cold touches her left breast. Looking down, she finds a dollop of vanilla ice cream slowly making its way down the slope, making her nipple grow impossibly stiff, body shuddering in response. He licks it in earnest, earning a short cry for the deeds his tongue does on her burning flesh. The ice cream leaves a trail between her breasts and she sighs his name.

“I like the sound of that.” He groans against her mouth, lips cold. Riza grips the edge of the counter and lifts her hips when he hooks his thumbs over the waistband of her skirt. “Do it again.”

“Roy...” Riza shivers when she is exposed to the cold air of the kitchen. Completely bare now, she clings to his hair when he continues to smother her body with sweets only to kiss everything clean.

He licks her flat, toned stomach until there is no more trace of chocolate and ice cream, and spreads some on her inner thigh, making her jump. She is responding to his every touch and he can hardly form a coherent train of thought, but he is seeing clearly. In fact, his sight is so well honed now that he can see every muscle twitching beneath his mouth and fingers. Roy feels tempted to spread ganache in her folds, but knows it is a bad idea. Still, his tongue dips into that very place, his ears picking up the new way she moans his name in a sinful tune.

Her juices are not as sweet, but Roy finds he likes them better anyway and laps them up with a hum of contentment of his own as she begins to shift her hips. Riza tugs uncertainly at his hair, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away. “Roy,” he silences her with a twirl of his tongue around her clit, but she continues once her mind clears enough. “Roy, please, not in the kitchen.”

Roy gives her a few more licks for good measure before standing upright, his thumb disappearing between her legs to pick up from where he left off. “Why not?”

She swallows at his husky tone, but meets his eyes unwaveringly. “Do you want to have sex where you eat?”

“Do you ever eat in the bed you’re supposed to sleep?” He quips back with a raised eyebrow. Riza only stares back at him. “Okay, fine. Not in the kitchen.”

He picks her up, feels her warmth and wetness below his navel, and takes her to the adjacent hallway, squeezing her against the wall to keep her in place as he fumbles to free his erection from its confines. Probably not the setting she had in mind, but he has no patience to walk the extra steps to his bedroom. He thrusts into her just as she catches up on what he is doing, cutting her sentence short with a torn gasp as her nails sink into his shoulders. He pulls his hips back and forward again, a hand barely tracing her curves as the other helps support most of the weight. If anyone had told Roy that he would hold his Lieutenant this way and on top of it all take her in the hall of his apartment, he would have laughed at them. He thinks he sees the lone decorative painting shaking with every thrust, but is not sure.

Fingertips touch the scar on her back accidentally, the skin coarse compared to the smooth expanse of her stomach and legs. He has seen the burns and injuries, but never the scars that were left behind, and now he is touching them deliberately, so gently as if he is afraid it still hurts. Afraid he will hurt her again. She whines when he stops and catches his chin between her fingers when he will not stop tracing that patch of skin. Desire dances in his eyes mingled with a sudden sullenness, and she does not know how to react.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a barely audible tone. If they had not been so eerily quiet for the last seconds, Riza might have missed it. “I don’t think I ever apologized for this.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” she says steadily, her own finger imitating the pattern he is drawing on her back on the planes of his chest. “I asked you to do this.”

“That you did,” his smile lacks its usual humor and he kisses the corner of her mouth. “Do you... Want me to stop?”

Riza responds by lacing her arms around his neck and kissing him slowly. “Not here,” she whispers into the curve of his jaw and holds on tight as he maneuvers them through the apartment.

The old springs of his mattress creak beneath them, the headboard banging incessantly into the wall, the repetitive action chipping away the paint. Some of the urgency has died, allowing their emotions and feelings to surface and take over. The kisses are passionate, still tasting of chocolate and vanilla, hot tongues tangling with each other as he slowly and steadily drives her to the edge. Her back arches off the bed, his name a mantra on the tip of her tongue, a prayer full of affection and devotion she whispers only for him to hear. He says her name into the hollow of her collarbone, pressing their joined hands into the mattress on each side of her head.

It is not that he thinks she hates his guts after all he did with her father’s research (though he sometimes believes she should, in all honesty), but Riza has always been so mindful of where they stand. Once he was her father’s apprentice, now he is her superior. Very rarely, she would call him by his name and not Mister Mustang. She always has a way of getting close to him, but not really, as if the titles are the only things keeping her from opening up to him completely.

Roy lies beside her in the aftermath, pressing kisses to the scars on her back. He might never forgive himself for this, and somehow Riza does not hold this against him. There is a chance he will never truly know how her mind works, but she has called him by his first name a handful of times in the past hour. She turns around and tucks her head beneath his chin, her lips curled in a smile against the base of his throat. A contented sigh leaves them both and he closes his eyes, nose buried in her golden hair.

It is a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you’re wondering, the dessert is one my mom made. idk where she got the recipe tbh, but it’s vanilla ice cream, chocolate ganache and kitkats layered in a dish.


	2. ii: follow you into hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmm, well, I did write something along these lines a while ago. It was the safest route seeing as I have no idea how to portray a dom/sub relationship. Plus, I really like the prompt
> 
> Enjoy!

In this moment, Riza can notice a handful of things she overlooked before. Has the comforter in her hands always been this soft, or the carpet beneath her feet this plush? She hears the signature crack of the General’s alchemy and feels warmth bathing the left side of her body. Breathing in deeply, her lungs fill with the scent of oak logs burning in the fireplace of his spacious bedroom. It brings her back to her childhood in the countryside when she would play hide and seek with him among the trees surrounding the house in his free time, and he would usually spend so much time looking for her, but she was always above on high branches, giggling behind the hand that covered her smiling mouth. How time passes fast.

Her hands rest on her lap and she waits with all the poise someone has after years of being in the military; back straight, shoulders squared, definitely not a combination for a place as cozy as this. The mattress is comfortable under her weight, and she busies herself with running her toe along the fuzzy texture of the rug at the end of the bed. The windows to her right rattle as wind howls outside, her skin pricking beneath the long sleeves of her sweater.

It is winter in Central and snow had started falling just two days ago. However, it has not stopped yet, and the population fears it will get to the point in which leaving their homes will be impossible. The government tries to soothe their worries, but moments like this when there is a power cut caused by the weather only serve to leave everyone more agitated. Roy, very conveniently, has invited her over to his home, Black Hayate and all. Judging by that and the cabinets filled with food, a rare sight whenever he is concerned, she believed he was hoping for a snow in to keep her trapped there with him, at first. It is a good excuse they can use if it ever comes to that, she admits. So far, there has not been any warnings of storms despite the wind that begs to differ, but it is this force of nature that has caused half of Central to be without electricity tonight.

Riza turns her head towards the fireplace, where a noise of clinking glass originates. She cannot see the flames licking at the logs; she cannot see Roy pouring the wine he bought specially for this occasion. She thinks the necktie that serves as blindfold is a bit unnecessary – they could have gone without it and just used the natural darkness instead – but Roy has his motives, she reasons. The fire, the wine, the new luxurious bedroom of a house he has purchased recently, and yet she is already familiar with it... Everything screams romance, everything except for her covered eyes. Riza knows where this will lead and wonders why a blindfold is necessary.

His steps are muted, but she hears them easily until he stops before her. She tilts her head upwards, waiting. “You know, Colonel.” He starts, and his smooth voice makes the hairs in her arms stand. “They say that when you take away someone’s sense, the other remaining will heighten to make up for its loss. I used to think they were exaggerating, but as it turns out, it’s true.”

There is something before her nose. She smells the wine, and soon the cool edge of the glass touches her lips. He tilts the glass and she drinks from it, tongue running along her tinted lips afterwards. “Is it?”

“Yes, it is. In the moment I was blind, I swear I could’ve heard a pin falling on the other side of the room.” Fabric rustles, and she does not know what he is doing. All she can do is wait for him and she hates sitting idly. “That gave me an idea, one that I sadly had forgotten in the aftermath of it all, but luckily I remembered it. Care to help me?”

 “Of course, sir.” She understands it now, all of it, and her body is thrumming in anticipation already.

Riza is expecting it, expecting his touch, and when it comes as a simple, innocent placement of his palms on her knees, she gasps. It is not about only heightening the other senses; her temporary lack of sight makes it impossible for her to know where he is going to touch, so every brush of his fingers on her is a surprise. His hands vanish from her knees and soon they come to her neck, brushing away her growing hair. His hands are warm, callused, applying a pressure so gentle, but so alluring she has to curl her fingers around the comforter.

His touch grows firmer; too light and she will chalk it up to her imagination. It travels down her arms all the way to her hands and back up, stopping to cradle her face. Roy kisses her finally, open mouthed, slow, passionate. She thinks it is not a comfortable position for him, to remain standing while she is comfortably sitting, but something inside tells her to keep quiet. He wants it this way, or else he would have done something different. Not only that, but he is hardly giving her room to breathe, let alone speak. A kiss ends and another begins when he parts from her to take a sharp intake of breath, and one after the other they come until they blur together and she cannot tell them apart anymore.

Roy pulls away and she follows him until he is out of her reach. Her loss is short-lived, for his hands are now under the woolen dress she wears and inching it up. The thick pantyhose she had been wearing prior to arriving in his house has been taken off much earlier, and he brushes the pads of his fingers against her sides as he works the material off her body. The high collar of the dress catches on the blindfold and dislodges it. Riza keeps her eyes closed, feels the flickering flames dancing on her eyelids until the tie is back in its place. She earns a hard kiss for that and returns her hands to her lap.

His lips settle on the top of her breasts. She marvels at the way he can light her on fire so effortlessly when he wants. Gentle or rough, Roy always gets that delicious feeling simmering low in her stomach with every little thing he does. Of all the things the blindfold takes away, what she misses the most is the smoldering look in his eyes and how they surely reflect the flames to her left. That dangerous glint full of promises never fails to make her feel the first stirs of arousal anytime, anywhere.

Riza opted for a non-padded bra today, and he uses it in his favor, brushing his tongue over the lace that covers a perky nipple. Her reaction is instantaneous. A shudder racks her body and her thighs try to close, to press together to alleviate some of the need she feels, but Roy is standing between her legs and she can feel his smirk against her soft skin. The bastard. He undoes the clasp of her bra and spends an awful long time giving her breasts attention with nips and slow licks, and firm squeezes. Riza bites her lip, her tongue, the inside of her cheek, anything to keep from making a sound, her small payback for not being able to close her legs.

Hot and wet, his tongue travels down the valley of her breasts, dives into her navel, and trace the line of her underwear on her hips. Strong hands caress the length of her legs. Fabric shuffles and his presence before her shifts. He is on his knees, Riza realizes when his forearms rest on her thighs, thumbs stroking circles around her hipbones. His breath fans the lower half of her abdomen. She swallows and licks her lips.

The hands she keeps between them hanging in the space between her legs and blocking the view are moved aside by his own. His fingers start a slow journey on her elbows to her hands, thumbs squeezing into the pulse on her wrist and the center of her palm. He takes her hand, kisses backs and palms of both, and she shivers at the gesture and its tenderness. Riza sets them on the mattress on either sides of her body when he lets them go, and shifts her hips when he deems it is finally time to get rid of her last piece. Unlike her, he is still fully clothed.

Roy hums as he guides the matching panties down her toned legs, the first noise he has made in a while. The heat inside her grows, because like his eyes, his voice is a deadly weapon of seduction. His thumbs dig into the inner part of her knees and push her legs outwards, opening them to their limit. He often comments on her flexibility and how this specific asset of hers is so useful when they are alone. She can feel as he leans in closer, feels his breath again on her and her muscles twitch in anticipation.

Riza waits on bated breath. She hates waiting. She hates being so wet and ready and _needy_ , and not being able to do anything about it. She hates that he is likely smirking at her now and enjoying seeing her reigning in her need to squirm and protest and beg and demand he does something. She hates that he is torturing her on purpose. _Do it!_ Riza grits her teeth to keep the words to herself, but her trembling muscles give away how wound up she is waiting for him to take action.

The first brush of his tongue on her folds make her jump with a hiss, a languid stroke from bottom to top that makes her back arch. Roy alternates between dipping his tongue into her and wrapping his lips around her clit to suck. It is an unhurried climb to her orgasm, and no amount of tugging at his hair and whimpering gets him to go a little faster. His hands perched on her thighs remain there and never stray, never touch her anywhere else that can magnify the pleasure she feels now. She can feel him staring at her; can imagine how his eyes are glinting, shining.

She moves her leg, finds that he is not restricting her movements, and brushes her toes on the obvious volume between his thighs. Roy groans into her and it shoots straight up her spine. Riza throws her head back, the tips of her hair brush her shoulders and she shivers. She tries to touch him again but he takes hold of her ankle and returns her leg to its previous place. Whereas his mouth was working slow and gentle before, now it is slow and demanding in response to the little feat she pulled. Her fingers weave into his hair and press his face closer to her. Her spine curls as Riza leans forward and gasps, moans when the warmth inside her coils tighter and threatens to burst.

“Roy–” Riza never gets to finish. He sucks hard one last time and she is done for, squeezing him between her thighs and clutching his hair in a painful grip. He laps it all up, tenderly once more, draws away from her and moves. A finger under her chin guides her head up to meet his lips. She tastes herself on his tongue, wraps her tired fingers around the shirt he wears.

Roy breaks the kiss, but remains close enough so she feels his lips quirking in a smirk and his tongue darting out to run over them. “I’m not done yet.”


	3. iii: I can't obey that order, sir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll never get tired of saying this, but I'm a dumbass. I recommend reading the third chapter (Firecracker) of Let Your Fields Burn to have a little more background story to this particular AU
> 
> Enjoy!

The lights in his apartment are on; he sees them from the street as he drives towards the building. She is there and he was not expecting to see her today still after what happened earlier. The gates of the building open and he parks his car, twisting in his seat after unbuckling the seatbelt to grab the backpack with his work clothes. Roy rides the elevator up to his floor and inserts the key in the lock, finding it unlocked. He sets the backpack down by the door and wanders deeper into the room to find her lounging on his couch, flipping through a magazine idly.

Riza still wears the same off-shoulder burgundy dress from earlier, her heels discarded in a heap to the side. Her long hair is pinned up, but in a disarray state due to lying down and moving against a pillow. Her eyes move away from the pages to his own and she smiles. An invisible weight lifts from his shoulders and chest when her eyes soften at the sight of him. “Hello.”

“Hi,” he whispers in reply and walks closer. She sits up and sets the magazine aside. “You were there.”

“You were there, too. As Firecracker.” Her tone lacks the accusatory tone that one would expect, but not him. Riza understands his job and accepts it. “I thought you didn’t do shows outside the club?”

“I thought so too.” Roy chuckles wearily, runs a tired hand through his hair and shoves both of them in the pockets of his pants. “I don’t know what they did to convince Christmas, but it worked.”

Riza gives him a rueful smile and stands up to wrap her arms loosely around him. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” She pecks his chin and reaches up to brush hair away from his eyes. “Had I known, I’d have found a way to spare you from that.”

He bends to kiss her lips and nuzzles her nose with his. “And do what? Dress as a fireman yourself and dance in Olivier Armstrong’s bachelorette party? I doubt she’d appreciate it.”

“She tried to find out who hired you, you know. No one came clean.”

“Oh, gee, I wonder why.” She laughs and guides him to his bedroom.

* * *

The air smells faintly of pancakes when Roy wakes up. He stretches slowly with a grunt, and rolls over to pull closer the body of his girlfriend, but his hand meets an empty space and cold sheets. An eye cracks open to stare around the dark room and lands on the digital clock on the bedside table across from him. It is past ten in the morning, and he does not feel as well rested as he should after catching some solid nine hours of sleep.

How could he when his mind kept remembering him of what happened hours before? When Christmas told him that Firecracker was needed for a special performance, he left the club and his management duties unprepared for a private show and for what was to come. Nothing could have prepared him for entering a house through its backdoor and finding Riza among the women attending to that bachelorette party. Worse, the one getting married was one of her previous bosses and she is one hell of a scary woman. Olivier Armstrong did nothing short of manhandling him out of her house and threatening to call the cops. Roy had half expected her to throw a vase at his head or kick him in the groin – worse, chop it off entirely with the sharp looking knife by the cheese and bread arrangement in the corner.

Dreams were plagued with more developed versions of her attack, supplied by his own resourceful mind. Olivier throwing the couch in his direction. Olivier unleashing five dogs upon him, all of which are massive and have sharp teeth. Olivier producing a sword out of thin air to stab him where it hurts the most.

He went back to the club afterwards, mildly shaken. Roy phoned his mother’s office in the bar on the other side of town and explained what happened, lest she hear it from someone else. She promised she would do anything in her reach to stamp it down before it spreads, but Roy is just glad he was wearing the mask then to hide his face. It will not bother him if rumors spread about Firecracker being so openly rejected, but if people find out Roy Mustang is behind that persona, he will never hear the end of it.

Roy finds the strength to trudge out of the room. A mug full of coffee waits for him on the counter and he blows the hot liquid whilst rubbing the last traces of sleep off his eyes. His hand falls to his side and sets his eyes on his girlfriend as she flips the last pancake on to a plate, dressed in a very familiar piece. The drink scalds his tongue all the way down his throat, causing his eyes to water in pain. He sets the mug down on the marble a little too noisily and coughs into his fist, doubling over. She walks hastily around the counter, a glass in her hands and water sloshing around, flowing over the rim to fall in tiny puddles on the floor.

He takes it from her hands and drinks it in one go, then bursts out laughing, a hand on his stomach. “Oh, Riza.”

She smiles and flips her bangs from over the glittery mask. “What?”

Roy is laughing still when he tugs it away from her face and leans in to press his mouth to hers. “This is very unflattering. Do I look this silly when I wear it?”

“The idea behind it is to make everyone focus on your body, not your face.”

She is right, of course. “Everyone except you, it seems.”

He flicks the mask over his shoulder and takes a step back to appreciate the sight. His fireman jacket is too big for her frame and the sleeves are rolled back to an appropriate length for her shorter arms, but Riza still looks too good in it, especially when she’s foregoing the matching pants and her bra. The open jacket reveals part of the swell of her breasts, her flat stomach, and the dark red panties of the same shade of her dress draped on a chair in his bedroom.

His hands slip beneath the coarse fabric to settle on her waist and he guides her backwards towards the couch. “What are you trying to do?”

“Me? Nothing.” She replies innocently.

“I doubt it. Are you trying to prove you can be a better Firecracker?” He tucks her long hair behind her ears. “Well?”

“Firecracker?” She scoffs, whirls them around and shoves him towards the couch. Roy sits down, smirking as she climbs on his lap. “I was thinking Flamethrower.”

“Oh, no, no, no. If I couldn’t keep that name,” he brushes his fingers beneath the jacket, revealing a nipple that hardens once it is exposed. “You can’t either.”

Riza laughs and places her hands on his shoulders for balance, tilting her head sideways to peer at him with a teasing sparkle in her eyes. “Madame Chris Mustang was keeping that name for me.”

“I’m sure she was.” He muses in a murmur. “Tell you what. Prove you’re worthy of wearing this jacket and then I’ll concede the name to you.”

She takes on his challenge immediately, sauntering away to slip on the heels lying forgotten since last night. They elongate her shapely legs, and Riza fluffs out her hair before she starts her performance. She takes slow steps in his direction, adding an extra sway to her hips, stopping close enough to his reach. Hands part the jacket more open to reveal her naked torso and travel down its length in leisure only after she squeezes her own breasts firmly. Her palms run past her panties and the lower they go, her knees bend to accompany them until she is crouching with her legs fully parted for him. She never looks away from his face as he intently watches her hands running along her inner thighs and her covered sex teasingly.

Riza turns sideways and dances her way back to a standing straight, giving him a very good shot of the deep red cotton that covers her cheeks. She reclaims her previous spot above him, and Roy reclines as she twirls her hips and brushes her sex over his erection. She is a bit unexperienced, but it does not mean he is not enjoying it, much on the contrary. He drinks it up and memorizes the way she bites her lip and grips his shoulder with a hand, the other running through her hair. He gives her an encouraging smile and lets her see the desire swimming in his dark eyes as she continues to tempt him. It reminds him a lot of the first time they met, except now there is not an audience watching them and it means they can take things further without restriction.

After a few moments of keeping his hands to himself, Roy notices the frown that mars her face, and she stops to sit on his lap properly, snugly settled on his throbbing arousal. She is burning hot against him and he swallows, looking at her questioningly to prompt an explanation out of her. In one minute, Riza is looking at him in contemplation, and in the other she scrambles away again with a hissed _fuck this,_ proceeds to take off her panties and throws them at his face. Bewildered, he hardly has the time to grab them before her hands are tugging at his own underwear. Riza does not bother to take it off completely and, next thing he knows, he is sinking into her to the hilt, griping her thighs as her warmth swallows him whole.

She keeps the jacket on, breasts bouncing as she rides him with her usual vigor and a tinge of eagerness she cannot hide this time. Torn between aiding in her movements and cupping her breasts, he shoves his face in her chest and lets his hands wander to his heart’s content, brushing over every place in his reach that makes her sing his name. The word rolls off her tongue with ease, hanging in the space between them in different pitches and intonations and shooting straight to his groin.

Riza is a sight to behold. Roy does not think he will ever get tired of watching her looking through papers for the next meeting or sleeping curled beside him on the couch through a bad movie. His thumb sweeps over her bottom lip and her wet tongue brushes the fingertip. Flushed like this, with a head full of bed hair and wearing a go go dancer jacket, she could very well be part of a dirty movie that plays on the tv late into the night. His lips find her neck, his own smell hanging on her skin. If he ever gets his hands on a pair of glasses, she will look every bit part of one of these movies dressed in her work clothes.

His hands slip beneath the jacket and trace her spine, eyes set on her face, on her closed eyes and parted mouth. He wants so much to kiss her until she cannot breathe and wipe away the furrow of her brows with a gentle touch of his fingers, but she looks so beautiful like this, and the noises she makes are so enticing they add fuel to the fire inside him. He is coming to close to the end. Roy cannot let himself sit back and watch, so he places his hands on the couch beside him and drives his hips up into her. Her eyes snap open and a sharp cry tumbles from her mouth. Her head rolls back down to look him in the eye and her mouth closes as she grits her teeth.

Their gazes hold. Riza is biting the inside of her cheek and tugging his head backwards until he feels a dull ache in his too stretched neck. He can see something in her eyes, something misplaced, and cracks a grin when he realizes what it is. The little vixen, trying to delay her own orgasm so she can win a game he did not know they are playing. Too bad she has a weak spot that is easy to find.

It takes few hard brushes of his thumb to her clit to have her saying his name and milking him of all he has. Riza leans against him, face tucked in his shoulder, breathing in deeply to fill her lungs with much needed air. She is boneless in his arms when she leans backwards to smile lazily at him, her eyes barely open as if she has just woken up. Chuckling seems like something that requires too much effort from him, and his arms have barely enough strength to keep her upwards, let alone brush her messy bangs out of her face.

Riza twists her lips and blows the locks away, the jacket slipping down her shoulders when she shrugs. “I don’t have the patience needed to be Flamethrower.”

Roy smiles. No, she truly does not, and maybe Flamethrower is an unreachable dream for him as well. “You could be just Spark and it’d be enough for me.”

She blinks slowly and laughs, winding her arms around his torso and molding her body to his. “Shut up.”


	4. iv: useless when wet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OF COURSE I'd pick this prompt. I know myself well enough by now. No amount of crossed words would get me to ditch this
> 
> Enjoy!

Roy does not hate the rain as much as he makes it seem. It can be a blessing in East City when it is too damn hot to function in the summer, and the sporadic rainfall cools the temperature just enough for him to breathe easier. The smell of wet asphalt and earth is pleasing, too, somewhat soothing. It is a little less troubling for him to fall asleep when it is raining too, especially when it’s a thunderstorm. The lightning does not bother him much, and the rumbles of thunder occupy his mind instead of past mistakes and deeds that he cannot let go.

However, he does dislike how it makes him more unprotected amidst a mission. Get his gloves wet and he’s open and defenseless until he gets his hand on a lighter and chalk. Defenseless, that is, if his loyal lieutenant does not accompany him, but that is a rare occurrence and enemies hardly have their way when she is around. Lieutenant Hawkeye is always aware of his weakness, even as he lets the moment get to his head and forgets how effortlessly he can be rendered useless. Roy of all people should the one more mindful of his weakness, but it is easy to forget that when he finally finds a good reason to ditch his paperwork and office and march out to the streets to deal with a problem.

What he hates the most, above all else, is how he is a rain magnet. It strikes when he does not have an umbrella, when there were no dark clouds in the sky not five minutes ago, or when he is a bit too intoxicated after a trip to the bar and finds it harder than usual to concentrate on taking steady steps when the ground is wet and slippery.

Even now in a town in the southern portion of Amestris, him and his unit in an undercover mission to solve the mystery behind kidnappings, it rains. Hawkeye is with him, of course, soaked to the bone and trying to see through the droplets that cling to her lashes. Roy wants to curse his luck once more. They left earlier that night for a simple reconnaissance mission, a simple survey to get used to the layout of the town and locate suspicious spots they will investigate thoroughly later. Although they still have their radios and earpieces carefully concealed from view, the equipment is now useless, wet as it is. The last time he had heard Fuery’s voice was fifteen minutes ago before static filled his ears and grated his nerves.

The streets are darker in this part of town, an old, abandoned industrial setting that he and Hawkeye wandered into when few stars could still be seen dotting the sky above. Lamps are spaced distantly from one other and glow dimly in the storm. Roy does not think they are lost, but they will be if they keep wandering aimlessly trying to find the main road.

They stop in a narrow passageway between two buildings, bodies pressed together as they stand side by side between two brick walls. A circle of light from the nearest lamp stops just before illuminating their heels. Hawkeye moves so their shoulders are not touching anymore, facing him. “An abandoned area.”

She does not need to finish that sentence. “But the buildings are locked up tight and we can’t find an opening inside to find some shelter.” He meets her eyes with a smirk, or what he can see of them now that his vision has adjusted to the lack of light. “Nice observation, Hawkeye.” 

“Just doing my job, sir.” But he is not looking into her eyes anymore. Instead, he is openly appreciating her curves, imagining them accentuated by the thin material of the civilian pieces she chose for the night, which cling to her like a second skin. Her white shirt accentuates her ample bosom, and the material is transparent enough that he sees the faint patterns of the lacy bra she wears. When he glances down at her waist and hips, he hears gravel crunching as she brings her legs closer together.

She knows what he is doing. Frankly, it boasts his ego to know that he can get a reaction like that out of her with his gaze alone. A simple press of her thighs, but a sign that she is responding to his appreciative, hungry eyes that take her in. Despite the coldness of his skin, his insides are on fire and she lets out a soft breath when he backs her up against the wall. His chest squeezes her breasts against her ribcage and he lowers his head to her neck.

Her flesh feels nice on his tongue, and he traces a slow path up her throat, taking with him the rivulets of water that make their way down towards her cleavage. Her mouth is awaiting him and her tongue is ardent against his, both in motion and temperature. The water that gets in the way of their mouths is hardly a bother and does little to quench the fervor of their kiss. Roy is driving her into the brick arrangement, restlessly forcing her backwards with the strength and demand of his lips, although she has no more room to move.

“Sir,” she gasps in his ear when his hand finds the slit of her skirt. All of her is wet, and by that, he means exactly that. _All_ of her. There is a noticeable warm dampness when he brushes his fingertips on the outside of her panties and Riza jolts with a whimper.

A finger slips to tease her folds and disappears inside her. Hot. The thought of him inside her now makes him groan, but Roy decides to torture her a little longer with slow thrusts of a sole finger that hardly makes her feel full. Riza lifts her head from his shoulder with a huff and fixes him with an impatient stare, but only gets an innocent grin in return. She cannot see it clearly, but knows it is there.

He adds a second finger, marvels at her warmth. “Fuck, Riza.”

“You do that.” She says, an edge in her voice. “Do that to me now.”

Roy whirls her around and she presses her hands on the wall, bracing herself as he crouches and lifts her sopping skirt, his bare palms registering the bumps that rise on her skin. A hooked thumb around the band of her panties and he forces it down her legs. It catches in the strap of her shoes and Riza steps one foot out of it to allow a wider stance. With a hand on the back her neck, he guides her to bend at the waist. Her current position and the narrow passageway leave him with little space left, his tight pants brushing the cheeks of her ass.

If she can hear him unbuckling his belt and tugging at the zipper over the sound of the rain, he does not know, but there is a tenseness in her body when he grasp her hips and he can see her fists closing in anticipation. Riza shifts impatiently when he refuses to continue and his hold prevents her from seeking him out instead.

When he does enter her, his eyes roll back at the sheer feel of her around him. She is burning, blazing. Her insides are so hot he barely registers the cold wind and rainfall that has yet to let up. He cannot hear the sound of their skin slapping together when they meet, or the gasps he draws from her. Roy leans over her, chest flush to her back, and squeezes a breast through the material between them. Riza lowers her head with a sharp cry and finds it in her to move her hips and meet his thrusts.

His fingers cradle her chin and force her head back up until her spine arches beneath him. He is pumping into her as if his life depends on it, as if the warmth that surrounds him is the only thing keeping him from freezing in this frigid weather. The rain is hardly a bother. Lightning flashes and he sees her nails digging into the worn out brick. She swallows, throat working in his palm. He can feel it vibrate with every moan, every noise she makes. Roy wishes the rain would stop so he could hear it all, commit them to memory.

When the vibrations of her throat change, Roy leans in closer and prompts her to repeat her words. “Harder.” She begs, her voice a whine that is so uncharacteristic of the stoic lieutenant everyone else knows. “Harder, Colonel.”

He loves it when she begs. If he ever loses his sex drive (which never happens, and never will as long as he gets to have her like this) the sound of her voice, that specific timbre, will spur him on for hours. “You don’t need to tell me twice.”

His thrust become deeper, stronger, so much that she stops trying to keep up with him and lets him drive inside her mercilessly fast. One of her hands leave its perch on the wall to hold her skirt at her waist, and the palm holding her hips snakes to her clit. The fingers that hold her throat slip into her mouth and she sucks, licks, bite on them, her saliva coating the skin of his left hand, her juices coating the right one. Her mouth is warm, but not as much as her pussy, and it has not lost an ounce of its fire since they started this tryst.

Her tongue moves restlessly in her mouth, and Roy can feel the telltale squeezes of her incoming orgasm. His hand returns to her throat and free her mouth to let her cry out when it happens. He does not stop her from lowering her head again, and her drenched skirt falls awkwardly in place when she lets it go in favor of holding her own weight upwards against the wall. Her hips jerk, the paces mismatched, but it moves restlessly seeking release.

The moan that accompanies her climax is loud and clear in his ears. He realizes then that the rain has ceased, but that thought is eclipsed by the long sound that comes from within her throat and the way she rides him trying to prolong her orgasm. A few more thrusts and he is done for, and his hands return to her hips until he has reached his own peak.

His forehead falls to her shoulder tiredly. Now that they have stopped, it is getting harder to ignore the biting chill of the night. Roy pulls away and Riza rights herself with a wince, rubbing the small of her back halfheartedly and fixing her skirt around her legs. They do not have to worry about looking presentable sodden as they are, still he squeezes excess water out of her hair as she fixes the ruined collar of his shirt.

She shivers when he wraps an arm around her to share some warmth and she does the same. “I know a way we can raise our body temperature.” He says with his lips on the crown of her head. “It involves a bed, blankets and two naked bodies. What do you say, Lieutenant? Up for some sneaking around?” Riza snorts lightly. The way she tightens the grip of her hand on his hip says it all.


	5. v: the Colonel calls me Riza when we're alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can this even be considered a kink? who tf knows, I certainly find this sexy so
> 
> Enjoy!

The chandelier shines brightly in the reception hall and bathes it in a warm golden hue as she walks into the expensive hotel. The balding man behind the counter gives her a copy of the keys of the suite her _husband_ booked for them, and her heels click on the polished marble floor towards the elevator. It goes up slowly to the tune of a faint jazz song and she takes the moment to study herself in the mirror on one of the walls.

Ginger does not really suit her. She has been brunette before, or even black haired, but the copper tone of her short tresses seems off. The tips of her hair brush her jawline and sway gently with every turn of her head, and if the movement is abrupt enough, fine hairs will cling to the dark red lipstick that paints her lips. The elevator comes to a stop and she walks down along the dimly lit hallway, not wasting time to observe the fancy decoration of vases and paintings. The designed room waits for her at the end, door unlocked and ready for her arrival.

Inside is spacious. The first thing she sees is a sitting room, and beyond it lay a bed and balcony windows that grant them a beautiful vision of this distant city. In one of the plush armchairs sits the object of her desire, looking up at her from over the rim of his whiskey glass. A smirk tugs his lips and the lock slides in place with a twist of her wrist. The flames in the fireplace add more orange tones to the rest of the room.  As comfortable as it is, they will only relax much later.

Her hand goes up to her head, grabs a fistful of ginger locks and tugs it away to hang the wig on a hanger designed for coats. She leaves a trail of hairpins in her wake, measured steps taking her closer to him. He leans forward to set the glass on the coffee table between them just as her long blonde hair falls behind her back in waves.

“Hello, Miss Hawkeye.”

Eyes locked with his, Riza works to unravel the strap keeping her coat closed. “Hello, Mister Mustang.” She tosses the piece away.

The silk of her dress is cool beneath his hands as they travel down her sides. “Here to arrest me?”

“I didn’t have time to get handcuffs seeing as your last minute message caught me unprepared.” An upwards flick of the skirt of her dress reveals two concealed pistols on the top of her thigh high stockings. “But I brought these.”

Roy huffs a breath. “We won’t be needing these.” He takes the weapons out of their resting place and sets them aside on the couch. Tugging at the dress, he adds. “Or this.”

She quirks her lips at him and whirls around to show him the zipper of her dress. He tugs at it slowly, unveiling her back and what else lays beneath. It falls on a pool of fine fabric around her shoes and he leans backwards on the couch to appreciate her lingerie of choice.

“You bought it, after all.” He motions to the black lace garter belt. She did not seem very thrilled about the idea of purchasing it when he pointed it out, and later he realized it was because he had drunkenly yelled it in the streets with the rest of the unit keeping them company after a night out to celebrate a successful case. She was subjected to their relentless teasing until their intoxicated minds reminded them of who exactly they were making fun of. His dark eyes swivels up to stare into her amber ones. “Are you going to punish me?”

An eyebrow arches ever so slightly. “Punish?” Her tone conveys barely concealed amusement. “You’re not a child that needs punishment, Mister Mustang. You’re old enough to deal with the consequences.”

Consequences? “I hope you don’t mean taking off the garter belt, thigh high and heels and not letting me have my way with you in these.” Or not letting him have her in any way, period, but these... He had expressed his desire so many times to see her in these.

“So I can take off everything else?”

“By all means.”

Riza has a lopsided smile on her lips and rolls her eyes at him. Her hands disappear behind her back to unclasp the bra she wears. Black lace, black silk, they look so good on her. He likes that she favors this particular color. Dark blue reminds him too much of the military, and red underwear brings back memories he would rather forget. He has seen her in white and it does not flatter her as much as black.

Lost in his musings, Roy unseeingly watches the show she puts on to remove the two offending pieces and blinks himself back to reality when her panties is dangling before his nose from one of her fingers. He takes it from her and runs his thumb along the intricate pattern. Riza sets her knee in the space between his legs and loosens the tie from around his neck, but does not remove it.

Deft fingers work on the buttons of his shirt. She showers kisses on the patches of skin she uncovers and soon he is a canvas of lipstick smudge on pale, scarred skin. Her lips smear red on his throat, the apple bobbing beneath her touch, and ghost over his own parted, eager ones, but never fully touch for him to be completely satisfied. Riza nips at his lobe, kisses behind the ear, and moves downwards following the curve of his jaw, her mouth and wandering fingers being the cause of the bumps on his flesh.

She unbuckles his belt easily and pulls it off the loops. Pulling back, she holds both ends in a hand and the curved leather in the other, and with a quick motion, both sides of the belt slap together with a sharp snap. She tosses it away along with the idea of using it as a makeshift whip. Riza is kneeling before him and carefully sliding the slacks down his legs, tongue and lips not too far from the erection that springs free, but still not close enough. Her fingertip traces the base with no real purpose other than seeing him squirm beneath her touches.

Her fingers wrap around him, firm, and pumps him slowly as she sits back on her haunches to watch him as if he is the most interesting thing she has ever seen. Roy has his lips set together in a thin line and cannot decide to meet her eyes or to watch her working hand. Riza shifts back to her knees, closer to him now, and tenderly touches her mouth to the head. A sigh immediately comes from him and she moves her head to pay attention to another spot. Her tongue drags along the slit and his leg jerks, foot kicking at the fancy tapestry beneath her. He voices a single curse when she repeats the action before taking all of him inside her mouth.

Roy is more vocal than her, always has been. Moans interlace with his gasps, and she lifts a hand up to his face to press a finger to his mouth. He quiets down considerably, undoubtedly looking down at her with one barely open eye. Riza has her eyes closed so she can concentrate on what she is doing rather than on his reactions, humming whenever he touches the back of her throat. His skin is salty on her tongue and so is the precum leaking from the tip. She squeezes her thighs together to relieve some of the tingling begging for attention between her legs and entertains the idea of touching herself while she is jerking him off.

His hands find her hair, weave into the blonde locks to get a secure grip, and he guides the rhythm himself, head thrown back. He is moving with her and she adjusts to the change quickly, focusing on keeping her muscles relaxed. A finger traces the beginning of fine pubic hair, but this is as far as she will go in her self-exploring. Roy grunts and hisses, his fingers tightening their hold in her hair until it starts to ache.

Riza detangles herself from him, just as his breath hitches and she knows he is nearing his orgasm. She wipes her mouth with her fingertips and licks them clean, watching as he tries to gather his bearing and lifts his head to look at her, lost and confused. Rising to her feet, she takes hold of his necktie and tugs at it until he is standing as well. His length stands proud between them, rigid, curving sideways. Riza ignores it and guides Roy to the bed, walking him like a dog on a leash.

She climbs on the mattress, crawls to the middle on all fours, leaving him standing at the foot of the bed, watching. She sits down, legs bent, and parts them open invitingly, heels catching on the silky sheets, but she hopes he can see how ready for him she is. Whatever he chooses to do to her now, she will leave this room satisfied. Roy approaches her slowly, and she feels too much like a prey.

His tongue plunges into her mouth and he fits snugly inside her. He is not gentle or sweet, pressing her flat on the mattress, submitting her to his impatience for having his orgasm neglected. She does not mind. If anything, she encourages it, raking her nails on his back and crying out whenever he hits a sweet, sweet spot deep inside her. A smile is on her face the entire time, and soon he is smirking at her once the first waves of his annoyance pass.

Her shoes dig into the back of his thighs, the dull pain spurring him to go deeper and faster. Her vision is a burst of white and she clings to him as her body quivers inside and out, and he braces his weight on either side of her head, body stilling as contrast.

Legs feeling like lead, Riza moves them back down so he can roll off her to lie beside her on the bed. With eyes closed and usual frown gone, Roy looks so peaceful she would assume he was asleep if it were not his thumb rubbing circles on the side of her hip. He inches closer, lips on her shoulder, hand tracing the garter belt. He makes a noise in his throat as he moves to hover over her form to give her their first proper kiss of the night, a lingering, delicate press of the lips that does not fit the things that just happened.

“The view is beautiful from up here.” Roy smiles against her mouth. “How about we show the city how ravishing you look wearing this?”

Riza feels that little warm knot forming inside her again, imagines the cold of the railing in her hands, the quivering of her legs struggling to hold her up in her high heels as he drives into her from behind. “Lights off.” They are well above street lights to be seen, but any artificial lights of their bedroom can give them away. “No one can know.”


	6. vi: uncanny timing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was entertaining this for a while and figured royaismutweek would be the perfect opportunity to write it for once
> 
> And! I'm leaving for a weekend-long trip and I'm still trying to figure out how/when I'm gonna post the last part, but it'll come. 
> 
> Enjoy!

She does not have to warn him much. Roy is mindful of the laws, the careful distance they need to keep. Usually, one hissed reprimand coming from his lieutenant is enough to have him leaning away from her when he is too close, but not really, not quite. He has been closer to her before, much closer, more intimately than the harmless way he dips his head to stare into her eyes whenever the opportunity arises. The words are a mantra he has to repeat daily, occupying his head in an incessant chant that does not really distract him from her presence, but distracts him enough that he procrastinates on his paperwork more than usual.

Roy has good self-control when it comes to many things, but seems to lack it when it comes to Riza Hawkeye. He finds himself watching her every move and appreciating it. She does not know what she does to him, he is sure of that. She does not know that every time she brushes her fringe away from her eyes, he imagines he is the one doing that, but even the simpler, most innocent of actions cannot happen here. Nor do the most dirty, sexual things that his wild mind creates at any moment of the day. If she holds a pencil between her lips, he instantly imagines something else in its place. Lately, heat shoots straight to his groin when she gives him that narrowed eye look and chews him out for skipping on his work. That is when her words occupy his mind the most.

_Not in the office._

He has just returned from his overly long lunch break to find she is the only one in the office and she is _pissed_ , in her Hawkeye way. Pinched brows, fire in her brown eyes, a more noticeable downward tug to the corner of her lips. To anyone else, she would look annoyed at most. To the rest of his unit, however, it is a sign that they will be on the other end of the scolding of a lifetime. So it is with her standing between the desk and him, as he closes the door slowly, her words already echoing in his mind in a deafening pitch, that he says _fuck it_ and closes the distance between them when she stops to take a breath.

Roy does not let her, slipping his tongue into her mouth forcefully and trapping her against the polished table. Expecting her to push him away and return to her scolding with renewed fervor, he is pleasantly – _quite pleasantly –_ surprised when she moans into his mouth and grabs a fistful of his hair. He groans in reply, lost in the aftertaste of her favorite tea that clings to her tongue and leaves him both thirsty and hungry for more of her.

_Not in the office!_ The voice, her voice, inside his head screams at him again, but he shuts it out, because Riza is not fighting this, so why would he? Hell, he cannot recall the last time they had the chance to do more than simply brush their hands together. He is missing her, craving her, and he would be a fool to let this opportunity pass when she is so willing.

His hands grip her hips, hoisting her up to sit on the edge of the desk. Her legs part for him, by now an act that is both natural and habitual, and he presses his body to her as close as he possibly can. Teeth catch her bottom lip and nip, nibble on the skin of her neck, tugging the collar of both her shirt and jacket down with a hand that has reluctantly left its spot on her mouthwatering curves.

The coarse blue jackets are the first to be shed off on both parts. It does not really hinder their movements, but they get in the way, and Roy really wants nothing to be between them right now. He cannot have that, not now anyway, but he finds contentment in having the thin materials of their undershirts as the only barrier between their bodies.

Roy tugs on the waistband of her pants, pulling away to watch her face and wait for her refusal. Nothing comes. Her skin is flushed red already, golden hair disheveled, fingers gripping his shoulders tightly, lip caught between her teeth. He makes a deep noise of approval in his throat and begins to pull the pants down her legs as her eyelids part to reveal cloudy brown eyes. He can see in them that she is not pleased with their current setting, but knows that she wants this as much as he does, or else they would have stopped before getting this far. Or else they would not have started any of this to begin with.

The haze in her irises fade as she lifts her hips to aid him and her own skillful hands work to free him of everything from waist down. The blue fabric pools around his feet and he kicks it away clumsily, not bothering to take off his boots – too much of a hassle – and dips his fingers into her moist folds at the same time his mouth returns to hers. She sighs through her nose. Getting Riza to be vocal about her pleasure when they are alone is a battle of itself, and he prides himself when he manages to make her do more than simply gasp out his _name_ , but right now her quietness proves to be useful, although it is more of a necessity. They really cannot be caught, not now of all times.

She swats his hand away none too gently and wraps her legs around him. Impatient, eager, just like he is. Roy is glad she wants to skip foreplay this one time. Exploring each other’s body is fun and delectable when they have time and are not so desperate to be joined as one, but as it is now, they do not have the time or the patience to take it slow.

He sinks into her with a sharp intake of air that he muffles against her shoulder and Riza holds her breath altogether. There is a pause before he sets a pace, slow and deep, holding her in place until she writhes against his palms. She licks his earlobe and plays with it for a while before reclining to her forearms, and fully lies down on top the documents, files and folders that litter the top of his desk. These are going to be wrinkled by the time he is done with her, but none of them really cares, and the new position they are in now makes him hit her in all the right places. Her chest is heaving, her mouth is open and she is putting in effort in keeping her pants silent. One of her hand twitches, seemingly seeking for something to hold on to, and he quickly latches onto her wrist to bring her quivering fingers to the place his own had been exploring few minutes ago.

As her digits part her folds to find her clit, there is a knock on the door. “Colonel Mustang?”

Her hand quickly retreats and cups her mouth instead. She looks wide-eyed at him as he slows his pace until it is agonizing him to be inside of her like this, but it would be worse if he were not inside her at all.

_Did you lock the door?_

_No._

Riza squeezes her eyes shut and trains her gaze on the ceiling, searching for something, maybe patience to keep from mauling him for being so careless. Another series of knocks resounds around his office and the unknown, distinctive male voice asks again. “Colonel Mustang?”

“Yes?”

She makes to slap his arm, but he grabs her hand quickly and returns to the spot it should not have left. _Why’d you say that?_

_He was going to come in_.

“Colonel, I have a report for you.”

“Leave it outside.” Roy presses her fingertips to her clit and rubs a circular motion, ignoring the dirty look she is giving him as her hips buckle in place. God, what is he, a masochist?

The faceless soldier outside stammers incoherently. “But sir, these are–”

“Leave it outside.” He calls out, punctuating every word with a deep, hard thrust and Riza nearly chokes on her breath. She is biting the knuckles of her other hand now, eyes screwed shut and head turned to the side. “I’m on the phone.”

“B-But, sir–”

“Are you deaf!?” Roy slams his palms on the table, effectively masking the quiet cry that Hawkeye could not keep to herself. He just wants to enjoy this moment with her and they cannot even leave them alone! “I swear if you don’t leave, I’m going to serve you roasted for the troops!”

They hear the soldier scramble away, shutting the door of the outer office a little loudly in his haste. Roy uses his frustration to hold onto her hard enough to leave bruises and proceeds to do what he is been longing to do since they started this round: pump into her fast and hard enough until she forgets her own name and remembers there is only him, him and her in his office doing illicit, delicious things. Him and her quenching their needs momentarily until they find enough time to do it over and over until they are barely satisfied.

The fingers between her legs are frantic now, moving to match his pace, and her other hand is barely skimming the fabric of his button down. He wraps an arm around her and brings her to a sitting position, wasting no time to return her fervent kisses as he squeezes her ass and marvels at the softness of it. Roy quickly understands why she wanted to change. He swallows her high-pitched moans, devours the one that breaks halfway before she pulls away with a shudder. Her entire body trembles and she holds the edge of the desk in a white-knuckled grip, head thrown back and mouth working to let out soundless cries.

He curses against the curve of her neck, bites down on her shoulder and grunts against her swollen lips as his hips jerk forward one more time and then still. Roy breathes in deeply, taking in the fruity scent of her body wash. Their lips press together softly and he pulls away with warm eyes, and smiles as if nothing else could ever top this moment of the week.

Riza slaps him upside the head, but all she actually does is brush the hair on the back of his head upwards with the motion of her hand. The locks stick in different directions mildly resembling a duck butt. It is done on purpose, he knows, because her eyes are shining in the afterglow. “Not in the office, sir.” Her voice is tired, soft, and not as hoarse as it has potential to be after their encounters. He longs for the day when he will be able to hear this every morning and wake up to find her beside him.


	7. vii: together a long time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've got to the end of this awesome week! A big thank you to everyone that took the time to read and accompany me on this.
> 
> We'll see each other again on another royai week! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Riza wakes up to a scene out of a dream or a fairy tale book. None of this seems like it belongs to the many futures she envisioned since setting foot in Ishval years ago, not the white curtains billowing in the wind, not the early morning sunshine touching the side of her face, not the birds singing in the railing of her balcony. Maybe when she was a lot younger and her mother was still alive, she dreamed of a moment like this, but she cannot recall any of it.

The beddings are blissfully warm after a long night of sleep and smell distinctively like him and her, together. On the plush armchair set in the corner, her long white dress is draped over it with care. They could not leave Amestris to celebrate given their positions in the military, but they can make any place the perfect place for a honeymoon, even if it is the bedroom of their own house. Roy can do minimal work from home as they spend the one week off they have given themselves to enjoy their first days of marriage before they drag themselves back to Central Headquarters.

The gold band around her finger is new and with it rests the practical engagement ring he bought her with encrusted stones. She often finds herself running her thumb along it, but now she takes the time to admire both rings under the warm morning light. The bands shine brightly and the crystals sparkle like water under the midday sun.

Riza smiles and runs her fingers through her sleep-tousled hair, not as long as it once used to be, but it is slowly getting there. Beside her, on the space where Roy once occupied, lay their dogs, all of which perk up when they realize she is awake and promptly wander closer to greet het with licks and happy yips. She struggles to give them all equal attention, but somehow manages. She makes a quick trip to the adjoining bathroom and returns feeling refreshed, slipping beneath the covers that feel so, so good on her naked skin.

Black Hayate curls up to her stomach, sighing softly as he settles for another nap. All the other dogs find comfortable places to sleep all around her. They should not even be in bed, but Roy always spoils them rotten. If they ever have kids, she will know exactly who to blame if they are caught with candies before meals.

All of them scatter as the door opens slowly, running past Roy’s bare legs as if he is the one that tells them _no_ when they beg to get on the bed. He enters the room with a tray in his hands and a beautiful smile on his face, his eyes so full of love her heart swells. She sits up, the sheets fall to her lap, he sets down the tray and cups her face to give her one lingering good morning kiss, whispering the words against her smiling mouth.

Roy settles into bed beside her, an arm easily slung over her shoulder and pulling her closer to his side as she eyes the food on the tray. With only his underwear on, their skins meet and she feels the delicious sparks blooming from the contact. “Did you call Gracia for help?”

He gasps, placing a hand over his heart in mock insult. “I’ll let you know that I learned how to make toast and scrambled eggs in the past years.”

“Impressive,” she says in a tone that is clearly not impressed. “Why’s it that I always had to cook breakfast?”

“I couldn’t reveal my secret abilities until the right time, could I?”

He kisses the curve of her jaw once she places the tray on her lap. Toasts and scrambled eggs aside, there are heaps of fresh fruit and two cups of tea. Riza sips it tentatively and pecks his lips in thanks, the cup warm between her palms. Of course, he would not dare to try to make coffee; he never gets it right. Roy feeds her a strawberry, and they are happy just sitting in bed in silence, sipping tea and eating berries to the tune of the birds outside. The backs of his fingers are brushing along the side of her neck, tantalizing, ghosting over the scar she earned after the Promised Day. His lips replace his hand, and she squirms as a familiar prickling starts between her legs.

Riza sips the last of her tea and leans away from his touch to set the tray on the bedside table. His questioning gaze disappears once she rounds in on him, understanding taking its place as his hands settle on the curve of her waist. She does not mind eating cold scrambled eggs later if it means she gets to spend her first morning as a married woman basking in the attention given by her wonderful, handsome husband.

Their lips meet and part, he searches her eyes with his hooded ones. A lazy smile stretches on his face and she finds herself returning it, inhaling deeply through her nose as he dives in for another kiss. He lays her against the pillows, an elbow supporting his weight as his other hand trails up and down her side slowly, matching the rhythm of his tender mouth. Her hands glide up his torso, curl over his shoulders, flutter over his neck and play with his hair. Her leg moves, her toes caressing his the back of his leg as she bends it at the knee, the sheet falling away to reveal more bare skin for his wandering hand.

Roy settles comfortably on top of her, hard against her body. A delicious shiver runs up her spine, the promise of getting another taste of last night makes her toes curl. She succumbs to his ministrations, eagerly responding to every touch of his with one of her own of the same intensity. Riza pursues him when he pulls away, draws him back in for another mind-numbing kiss, keeping him in place until her head starts to spin.

She does recall other times when things were passionate, but it never seemed to get to this point. Her chest feels constricted at the amount of love she can feel through every physical contact they share now, the kisses hard, but sensual, with qualities contradicting in the most delightful of ways. She is eager to return all of it tenfold until Roy can barely breathe as she overwhelms him with her emotions as he is doing to her now.

He flips them over. Riza is sitting on his stomach, his arousal throbbing against her cheeks. Roy smirks up at her, that usual smug quirk of his lips, but the quality is lost due to the warmth in his eyes. “Riza Mustang,” he tests the name, rolling it off his tongue for about the fifteenth time in less than twenty-four hours. He would not stop teasing her about it throughout the reception, whispering the words as they danced or posed for photographs. She is sure Ed caught him saying it about eight times, because he would always shoot him an annoyed look.

Her fingers wrap around the intricate headboard; the floral pattern is something she will trace with curious fingers on lazy days by his side. Riza lifts her hips and repositions herself; his hands never leave their perch on her hips. Roy stretches her. She feels full, whole in more ways than one. For the longest time, they had always believed themselves to be undeserving of a happy ending. Killers, mass murderers do not deserve what they want the most. She does not know what changed their minds to make them give up that mentality and give in to each other. Maybe it was a gradual change, too many scares and experiences of nearly losing one another in different ways. Lust, Bradley, the Promised Day. They had come close to dying at least once and somehow evaded Death.

Something grows inside her, a knot in her throat that makes it hard to breathe. Riza hopes the gasp she emits can be interpreted as pleasure alone and not something else she does not want to face right now. The rocking of her hips is wonderful and distracting, but still cannot mask the feeling welling up at the base of her throat. She looks down to catch his gaze, feeling his eyes on her the entire time like burning coal. She swallows past the lump and dips lower to kiss him, fingers tightening against the headboard as the warmth inside her grows enough to rival the heat of his flames.

Her joints hurt by the time they reach their climaxes. A thin sheet of perspiration clings to their skin and soon, she thinks tiredly, soon they will wash it away, but right now, all she wants to do is lie down. Roy sets himself between her legs again for another tired, but still no less loving, kiss. He brushes his thumb over her lower lip when they draw apart with that affectionate expression back on his face. She wants to cry at the way he looks at her, and maybe she does, because next he is kissing her eyelids gently. She had not cried during the vows whilst his eyes had been a tad bit brighter. Riza has seen her wedding ring and other proofs of their marriage just moments ago, yet it seems reality is only now catching up to her. A hiccup shakes her frame and she tastes her tears in her mouth when she grins at him, seeing that his eyes are shining again. Something wet lands on a dry spot of her face. Roy is blinking swiftly, but the damp eyelashes give it away.

Riza lifts her hands to his face and swipes her thumb along his bottom lash line, locking her fingers together on the nape of his neck and pulling him down towards her again. “I love you,” she whispers when their foreheads come together and repeats the words a little louder, clearer.

She can count in the fingers of one hand the amount of times she has seen him cry, the last one being on his best friend’s funeral so long ago. This is the first time it happens out of happiness.

“I love you too.” His chest rumbles above hers. “So much it hurts.”

A breathless little laugh escapes her. “You’ll make me cry again.” He smiles, endearing, breathtaking. If he keeps looking at her like this, she might just wail for the first time in years. Riza sniffs and it sounds too much like a sob. This is not how she had expected their honeymoon to go, but she finds quickly that the tears will not stop nor will her smile diminish.

She wraps her arms around him and rests her cheek on the crown of his head. He dampens her chest, arms tight around her. The dogs come rushing back inside once everything is quiet for a long period of time and settle at the foot of the bed, watching them with curious, expectant eyes and wagging tails, only to turn away for another nap when they realize the duo will not be getting up much sooner. They spend the better part of the morning simply holding each other, scrambled eggs and toasts forgotten on the bedside table.


End file.
